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planet.
under this blackbright sky i was in your hands. i held the scent of fire under my tongue it made me high it made me sleep it made me what was that you said? our words are mumbles, something like dreams half-awake, forgotten what was this. we are hazy filters layered over an already pitch-perfect…
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rot.
what if one day our hands didn’t match if, while walking they didn’t draw together magnetic what if your fingers didn’t recognize mine? what if one day we shared a seat without resting our feet on each other or my head finding that place just to the left of your shoulder that seems to remember…
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spit.
Came across a folder of things I wrote but didn’t publish, for one reason or another. Everything I write is somewhat abstract, and while the more positive things might be inspired by a particular person or event, the darker, angry ones almost never are. I go through phases in which I’m appalled by our society,…
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spine.
you don’t matter to the people who walk along your spine in military-issue combat boots lined with the skin of your brothers bite the fucking curb wear the flag let it wrap around your throat and suffocate your thoughts- drink the water. where is the remote? behind the couch with the bible and your stash…
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missing dot.
nights like this i remember how the skin of her cheek felt like tissue gone through the wash or the petal of some unnamed flower you might happen upon walking in an otherwise forgettable wood on your way to someplace else you’d rather be. in the great big bathroom in the great big house where…
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on believing that a funk has been defeated
driving down the road reading shit poetry and accidentally singing a few off-key notes for the first time ever in front of him i knew that life was good and the next day one blink, one word that wasn’t said one caught breath sent me face-first under the covers, sent me into the dark, silent…
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blind.
you, when looking up at your great blue sky universe full of gifts- patriarch of all of us staring back in disbelief- spirits out there, guiding you- muscle-bared, red-burnt skin steering you, malicious into the path of wrong you, when looking up find grace in things that are not there and absolution by simple virtue…
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a song like daria
okay but this- i thought, as i read bad poetry in some literary tome put out by folks who loved shakespeare in that one play he was in and who describe themselves as cosmic and imagine they’re unique- this is why i hate what i do. am i too arrogant? i asked and he, the…
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more meandering; 81912
russian spiced tea with a splash of milk and too much sugar, rickie lee is tinny through the speakers here, but i am too lazy to move six inches and put a record on. i wish it was raining (it just started raining as i typed that- oddly enough) babes tucked into cozy beds and…
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April Fox 